


Merry Christmas Molly Hooper.

by lulat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Party, Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 20:51:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5306324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lulat/pseuds/lulat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The infamous Christmas Party "incident" in A Scandal in Belgravia (2x01) told from Molly and Sherlock's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Christmas Molly Hooper.

The layer of snow on the ground is so thick that I struggle to keep my footing as I stumble through the snow. I should have worn better shoes, I realise that now. My feet are frozen and the skin coloured tights have done nothing to block out the damp and the cold. I'd naively assumed that as I was getting a taxi that these things wouldn’t matter but even the three second walk to the door has left me cold and flustered. I readjust the bag full of presents in my hands and attempt to work the circulation back into my fingers. The door to 221B has a note telling me to come straight up, so I do, wiping my feet on the doorstep and shaking some flakes of snow from my hair. 

I glance into the mirror across from the stairs, checking that the lipstick hasn’t faded and that the silver gift ribbon I clipped into my hair is still in place. The ribbon was a last minute thought, but I liked the effect it produced. Tonight I was hoping to show a different side to “Molly who works at Bart’s”. Hopefully a side that he would like and one that he would notice. I'm fed up of being ignored and unregistered. 

I make my way up the stairs and walk into the flat to see that everyone else has already arrived. I smile and try to sound casual when I say hello and place my bags on a nearby chair. As soon as I see Sherlock’s face I know that I’ve appeared too keen. “Idiot!” I think to myself, “What are you doing Molly?”

John offers to take my coat and I try to act nonchalant as I shrug off my layers. As soon as I remove my coat I regret not wearing a cardigan as despite being inside it’s still quite chilly in the flat. However I can’t pretend that I don’t see John and Greg’s faces as they take in my dress. I struggle to act as though I only just threw this outfit on; it’s difficult to hide the fact that it took me hours to do this, to make myself presentable. I take a quick look over at Sherlock. Surely he’s seen me, surely he’s had the same reaction as the others. I feel like screaming “This is for you! It’s all for you!” but I remain silent as I glance his way.

He’s barely registered me. His gaze is fixed on his computer. It’s as if I haven’t even walked in.

*

Mindless chatter, that’s all it is. Just constant inane drivel from Mrs Hudson about “oh doesn’t Molly look lovely!” It takes me less than ten seconds to analyse Molly’s outfit. Ideas and deductions are blinking at me as I return my attention to the screen. The counter is stuck on 1895, doesn’t John care? It’s a small technical glitch which sets my teeth on edge. Or maybe what’s really irritating me is the stupid photo in the right hand corner of the screen of me in that bloody hat! John seems unconcerned. He laughs. It’s times like this where the frailty of human comedy seems beyond me. How is this funny? I'm a consulting detective not some sub-average human being in a deerstalker! I despise being made to appear an idiot. Maybe for this reason I find myself being much more blunt when Molly’s attempt at comedy falls flat. “Don’t make jokes!” I snap, and look up at her to see her eyes quickly dart away from me with a hurried apology. 

Ugh, the trivial conversation continues as Lestrade talks about his wife. “No she’s sleeping with a PE teacher!” I exclaim. Any idiot could see that. The room falls silent for a second and I'm grateful. I have a few milliseconds of peace to continue studying John’s blog. 

Molly attempts to fight past the glorious silence by asking about John’s sister. “Nope!” I argue when John attempts to suggest that she’s stopped drinking. I’ve never understood his insistence in believing in people. Just because she’s family doesn’t mean she won’t lie. In fact it makes lying much more likely.

I'm rebuffed for this action and I realise that there is no chance of me continuing to study John’s work so I turn to the room and decide to entertain them with my deductions. I find myself saying “I see you’ve got a new boyfriend Molly and you’re serious about him.” “What?” she blushes. 

I smile slightly as I examine her. The dress, the make-up, the hair, and that cherry red present sitting on the top of that bag of gifts - they scream at me like loud voices in a library. I expound the details, walking forwards to take the present from the pile as I talk. It feels like an aftershave. Not too high end but heavy enough to pass as something more expensive than it is. I'm enjoying this. This revelation of her subconscious mind. It’s strange that she hasn’t mentioned him before now. I remember how quickly “Jim” was introduced to us. Although he did rather introduce himself; that was the point...

She seems embarrassed as I talk of the importance of the gift. I smile broadly as the final pieces of information slot themselves into place and I finish with “...obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts.” 

I open the tag on the luxuriously wrapped present and for the first time in years I find myself with nothing left to say.

“Dearest Sherlock love Molly xxx”.

*

There’s a pained silence as he recoils away from his name printed on the tag. I find myself unsure whether to scream, cry or slap him. I remain silent just moaning softly in my head “Oh God, oh God, oh God!”

He stands awkwardly in front of me. We don’t often stand this close and it feels as intimate as is possible with Sherlock. I finally find myself talking even though I'm unaware of how these words have escaped my lips.

“You always say such horrible things.” I struggle to keep my voice steady, to hide the tears that are caught in my throat. “Every time. Always, always...” my voice fades away into nothing. There’s nothing to say.

He barely looks at me and fumbles with the tag slightly. He goes to move away from me, to run to the furthest end of the room and I feel like running too. I just want to escape, to get away from what's just happened. I’ve seen him look at someone and deduce things about them but it’s always been simple things. What they had for lunch or their favourite brand of clothing. But this - this is different. He’s opened his eyes, observed my heart and exposed it to a room full of my friends. I‘m surprised at how much it hurts.  
He stops himself from walking away. I see his tall, angular frame snap back in front of me as he stammers with his elegant voice;

“I am sorry. Forgive me.”

Then suddenly he’s tilting towards me and despite myself I find my breath catching in my throat. He’s so close that I can smell the sweetness of his hot breath as he brushes his lips gently against my cheek. He’s barely there a second but it feels like it’s minutes later when he finally pulls away from me. 

“Merry Christmas Molly Hooper”.


End file.
